


just a touch and a thought and I was gone

by angejolras



Series: prompts [12]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, they meet while doing their walks of shame lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:07:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angejolras/pseuds/angejolras
Summary: Her breath catches as she looks back up to meet his gaze, and she groans internally.Fuck. He’s hot.





	just a touch and a thought and I was gone

**Author's Note:**

> god i don't think i've written for prompts in ages now, i'm trying to get to all the ones i have in my inbox, here's one i finished recently

Éponine’s everything aches as she turns over in an unfamiliar bed and lets out a groan under her breath, eyes slowly blinking open, and she yawns, blurring her vision slightly before her gaze settles on the sleeping woman beside her in bed.

Her eyes slowly widen at the sight, wondering how the fuck she ended up in this teeny little studio apartment bursting with knick-knacks coming from every direction, her last memory being of meeting a young woman she had deemed cute at the bar last night. At the realisation of what had probably ensued afterwards, judging by her and the other woman’s state of undress, she can’t help but cringe. Not that she didn’t enjoy the night they spent together—she vaguely remembers the absolutely heavenly feeling of getting to sit on the woman’s face as she fucked her thoroughly with her mouth, resulting in numerous explosive orgasms. No, it’s just the fact that she had been an idiot and had yet _another_ one-night stand—isn’t she getting a little too old for this?

Slowly, carefully, so she won’t wake the young woman, Éponine silently slides off the bed and tumbles onto the floor, making as little noise as she possibly can, and crawls about the carpet to grab her clothes. She grimaces at the inevitable prospect of doing the walk of shame, though she figures it might be better to do it sooner rather than later; she has no idea when this woman is going to wake up. It could be at any given moment.

Christ, Éponine doesn’t even remember her name.

She frowns to herself as she pulls her underwear on, wondering why she keeps doing this to herself. She’d never admit it out loud, but she’s tired of being single—it’s been three long, bleak years of singledom ever since she finally had the sense to dump Montparnasse back when she was twenty-two, and though she enjoys it most of the time, at night when she lies in bed, she can’t help but wish she had someone to hold her in their arms and whisper sweet nothings in their ear. She feels like she needs a shoulder to cry on that isn’t Grantaire’s.

Once she manages to get her clothes on, hastily throwing on her leather jacket and slapping her beloved brown cap on her head, Éponine silently hops to her feet and steals one last glance at the strange woman in the bed as she slips her feet into her ankle boots and dashes out of the apartment as quickly as her legs can take her.

She only makes it a few steps down the hallway before she falls down on her ass after very unceremoniously crashing into some guy’s chest.

* * *

Enjolras lies in bed with his eyes open, a look of absolute shock and slight disgust aimed entirely at himself written all over his face. It might have to do with the fact that he’s lying naked in bed beside some twink Courfeyrac forced onto him last night at the bar.

God, he must have been hella drunk last night if he actually ended up fucking a guy Courfeyrac set him up with.

He needs to get the fuck out of this place. Right the fuck now.

As Enjolras sits up in bed and glances over at the sleeping man beside him, tangled up in the sheets, he wonders why on earth he still does one-night stands when he can just get himself off in the privacy of his own home and receive just as good, if not better, results. It’s not like he’s ever been sexually attracted to the people he’s fucked, anyway. Maybe it would be a whole other story if he got to know them a little better, but he makes it a rule never to contact any of his one-night stands after the initial night together. That goes against the entire point of a goddamn one-night stand.

Quietly swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Enjolras gets to his feet and goes about searching for his clothes, scattered all around the room in the most unconventional places for clothes to be. Silently putting them on, he runs his fingers through his hair repeatedly in an attempt to make himself look at least half-presentable, trying to straighten out the wrinkles in his shirt with his hands. God, he is _not_ looking forward to having to make the walk of shame.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror in the corner and sighs, nearly inaudible. Here he is, twenty-seven, and the most relationship experience he’s had is a four-day relationship with a girl whose name he no longer remembers back in the second grade. He doesn’t go out much, but when he does, it’s usually at Courfeyrac’s insistence that he put himself out there and they always wind up nowhere—it’s been a string of dead-end dates for the past several months or so.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that he makes his dates fill out a political questionnaire he made two years ago after making the mistake of sleeping with a Republican. Who knows.

After managing to slip his feet into his shoes and grabbing his peacoat in his arms, not bothering to pull it on, he doesn’t look back as he hurries out of the apartment, almost sprinting down the hallway. In his haste to leave, he doesn’t notice the person in front of him, and he winds up toppling backwards when they collide, quite literally, in the middle of that hallway.

* * *

“Jesus motherfucking Christ!”

A string of furious expletives explode from Éponine’s mouth as she gets to her feet, rubbing her head while checking for any possible bruises as she prepares to cuss out this _asshole_ who knocked her off her feet, and not in the good way either. Whoever the fuck he is, he’s currently getting to his feet, and she can vaguely hear him apologising profusely through the sound of blood rushing in her ears, and once her vision’s cleared completely she looks up at him with the coldest glare she can muster before her mind goes blank.

The first thing she registers is the striking colour of his eyes, the most piercing blue eyes she’s ever seen, and his hair is an unkempt halo of golden curls upon his head. He’s tall as well—nearly a full head taller than she is. About 6’0, she estimates. Normally, she’d be irritated at such a fact, but for some reason, she can’t bring herself to be at this very moment. Her gaze drifts to his chiselled jaw and she has to restrain herself from looking further down, having previously glimpsed how the top three buttons of his wrinkled shirt are undone, giving her a nice little peek of some chest hair, as well as how his arms, while they’re holding a deep wine-red peacoat, seem to be bursting out of his sleeves, they’re so goddamn muscular. She doesn’t doubt that there are six-pack abs underneath that crimson button-up shirt of his, the red bringing out the blue of his eyes.

Her breath catches as she looks back up to meet his gaze, and she groans internally.

_Fuck. He’s hot._

She finds herself at a complete loss for words as the golden-haired man quickly says, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I—I didn’t see you there, I promise it won’t happen again, I—” He stops short, eyes widening ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably, at the way she’s looking at him, curious and bewildered and in a daze all at once.

“I—I’m sorry,” Éponine apologises, sounding uncharacteristically small, almost timid, and she hates herself for it. “I… sorry. I really didn’t see you there.”

The man just scratches the back of his head. “I’m Enjolras.”

He does all he can to keep his gaze from trailing down her body, having noticed her rumpled clothes and tousled brown hair tumbling down her shoulders under that newsboy cap, a leather jacket hugging her curves. Her eyes are a deep brown, warm and inviting, in contrast to her olive skin, spots of red having bloomed in her cheeks, and he can see a hint of smudged lipstick on her plump lips, leading him to wonder where she might have acquired that from.

She bites her lip and musters a sheepish smile. Enjolras sees that she has dimples.

“Éponine,” she introduces herself quietly, still rather embarrassed about their unceremonious accidental meeting. Thoughtlessly, she asks, “So you doing the walk of shame as well?”

Enjolras’ cheeks burn red at her frank observation. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“How was it?” Éponine questions rather brashly, unthinkingly.

Enjolras shrugs. “I was drunk, so I don’t remember much of it. He was just some guy my friend set me up with.”

The look on Éponine’s face is quick to turn questioning. “Oh, are you…”

“Pansexual,” Enjolras finishes for her. “Demi and pan. I don’t usually do one-night stands unless I’m very drunk and in need of relief.”

Why the fuck is he confiding into this girl he’s just met? Maybe it’s the way something in him tells him that she’s worth getting to know and keeping around. And Éponine… he’s heard that name before. He can’t quite put his finger on where just yet, though.

Éponine lets out a nervous laugh, nervous even to her own ears. “Oh. Okay.” She wrings her hands together as she supplies, “I’m bi, so… there’s that. Just left some chick’s apartment. Don’t remember her name.” She laughs, a little more derisively this time. “I’m a shitty one-night stand.”

The name Enjolras is vaguely familiar, but she can’t put a face to the name. She thinks Grantaire mentioned an Enjolras once in passing while deep in conversation with Jehan, but she’s not sure.

So obviously, her next move is to awkwardly offer, “Want to go get some coffee? I don’t exactly have anyone else around.”

Enjolras bites his lip as the corners of his mouth quirk up in a little smile. “I’d like that.”

* * *

“So, Enjolras, you from around here?”

They’re standing in line at a Starbucks two blocks away from the apartment building they met earlier in, the smell of coffee beans wafting through the café as people all around them stare at their devices while sipping their drinks or taking bites out of their food. It’s a breezy day in early autumn, the leaves having just begun to turn gold; as Courfeyrac would affectionately call it, sweater weather.

Enjolras shrugs, shoving his hands further into the pockets of his wine red peacoat as they move up a spot in the queue. “I moved down here from upstate for college and I’ve been here ever since. I just graduated law school a couple of years ago, actually.”

Éponine raises her eyebrows at that surprising new information. “Oh, you’re a lawyer?”

“Civil rights lawyer, yes,” Enjolras affirms. “It seems to be working out for me so far.”

Éponine laughs, dimples carving themselves into her cheeks while they move up another spot, just one more customer away from ordering. “Noice.”

“What about you?” Enjolras asks after a few moments of hesitation. “Are you from around here as well?”

Éponine shakes her head. “Moved here from Chicago for college. Been here ever since. Been working as a child welfare social worker for about a year now.”

Their conversation comes to a brief halt as they finally reach the counter, upon which the barista takes their orders—Éponine a caffè mocha and Enjolras a plain black coffee—and as they stand in wait for their orders, they resume their colloquy, Éponine leaning against the counter while Enjolras stands there with his hands in his pockets.

“It’s funny, I’m so sure I’ve heard someone mention you by name before,” Éponine remarks as she stares quizzically up at Enjolras.

He gives her a slight smile in return, though it veers more towards grimace territory. “My name isn’t exactly common. And it’s my surname.”

A fleeting look of surprise flits across Éponine’s face for a few seconds before disappearing completely. “Oh? Then what’s your first?” Probably something sexy like James or Aiden.

Éponine flushes red at her ridiculous mind running away from her, stopping herself. Thankfully, Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice how her cheeks have reddened.

He shuffles his feet slightly, finding himself subconsciously leaning against the counter as well. “I don’t make a habit of sharing my first name with people I’m not sure I’m going to see again,” he tells her rather awkwardly, cheeks flushing pink. “But now that I think of it, I think I’ve heard of your name before, and yours isn’t exactly common, either.”

“Huh.” Éponine stares out the window across the café with a contemplative look on her face, brow furrowed in rumination, and she almost doesn’t hear the barista calling her name until Enjolras taps her on the shoulder, already with his black coffee in hand. She turns around and gives the barista an apologetic smile, heavily tipping them at the same time Enjolras does before grabbing her drink, and she and Enjolras fall into step beside each other as they exit the Starbucks.

As they make their way to the nearest subway stop, descending onto the platform below, Éponine enquires, “Where do you live?”

“West Village,” Enjolras replies. “You?”

Éponine’s lips twist into a somewhat disbelieving smile as she says, “West Village too.”

“Really?” Enjolras’ brow furrows in pleasant surprise, and Éponine nods. When their train comes by, they’re quick to get inside, finding themselves seats in a corner of the train car, and Éponine takes a sip of her drink, making a slight face when it burns her tongue, setting fire to the roof of her mouth.

“Well, looks like we can walk home together,” Éponine says lightly as she watches Enjolras take a sip of his steaming hot coffee like it’s nothing.

It’s silent between them for the rest of the train ride, but oddly enough, for what feels like the first time, the quiet isn’t suffocating.

* * *

Leaves are drifting down to the ground, lazily spiralling downwards in the breeze, as Éponine and Enjolras walk down the pavement with what’s left of their drinks, side by side. Being the chivalrous gentleman he is, Enjolras has insisted on walking Éponine home; they’re now about three blocks away from her apartment building.

“No, seriously, I feel like I’ve heard about you somewhere before,” Éponine insists as she starts jaywalking without a second thought, causing Enjolras and the other pedestrians to follow her lead in doing so. “I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“I feel like I’ve heard of you before as well,” Enjolras replies. “I have no idea where from, though.”

“That’s so weird.” Éponine looks around at the leaves sporadically falling all around them as they stroll leisurely down the streets together, admiring all the different reds and oranges and golds and thinking wryly about how Grantaire would probably love to paint such a scene if he wasn’t so busy constantly fucking one of his best friends turned boyfriend.

It’s when she has this thought that she realises something, leading her to groan under her breath, “Oh, fuck, R’s so going to get on my case about another one-night stand…” The fact that she’s clad in clothes from the previous night will be a dead giveaway, and she’s sure she’s never going to hear the end of it once Grantaire finds out.

Enjolras’ brow furrows in contemplation. “R?”

“My roommate,” Éponine clarifies, hearing the slight confusion in his tone, though the vague recognition underlying Enjolras’ voice flies right past her. “He and I’ve been best friends since our freshman year of college. Absolutely nothing romantic or sexual going on between us, though. He’s got a boyfriend. His ex-girlfriend dumped him a few months ago, he was a wreck, and then Jehan swooped in to help him get over her and now I guess they’re boyfriends.”

“Jehan?” Now that’s a name Enjolras definitely recognises, though he wonders whether it’s the same R and Jehan that he knows.

“That’s his name!” Éponine says in a joking tone as they take a turn, soon finding themselves standing in front of her apartment building. She turns to look up at Enjolras and only now notices the odd look on his face. “You all right there, buddy?”

“Your roommate’s name is R?” Enjolras asks slowly.

“Yeah,” Éponine says. “Short for Raoul. Raoul Grantaire. He hates his first name, never goes by it—it’s always either R or Grantaire.”

“Yes, I know,” Enjolras mumbles, and he must have said that out loud, judging by the way Éponine’s eyebrows crease at his words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, cautious.

“I guess that’s where I heard about you from,” Enjolras says, mustering a weak little smile. “Our mutual friend R. And Jehan too, I suppose. I know Jehan better than Grantaire.”

Éponine’s mouth falls open and she goes silent for several moments before letting out a squawk of incredulous laughter, hand flying to her mouth. “Holy _shit_ , so _that’s_ where I heard about you from!” she realises out loud, vaguely recalling a time when Grantaire came back home late at night fuming, cursing profusely about how Enjolras could be such a jackass with a giant pole up his ass sometimes, and she laughs at the memory.

Judging by the numerous memories of his numerous squabbles and disparities with Grantaire, Enjolras dryly says, “Let me guess—it was because he was complaining about me, wasn’t it?”

“Now that I think about it, he does that an awful lot,” Éponine remarks, a dimpled grin lighting up her face as she looks up to meet Enjolras’ eyes. “I must say, I disagree with him.”

Now those aren’t the words Enjolras was expecting, and his cheeks burn red in the chilly autumn breeze. Éponine laughs at the sight.

“You’re a good egg, Enjolras,” she tells him in complete earnest, dark eyes warm as she smiles up at him, dimples etched into her cheeks. “Even if we did get off on the wrong foot earlier.”

She’s just tossed her empty cup into a nearby trash can and is about to walk into her apartment building when Enjolras says, “Gabriel.”

She turns around to shoot him a quizzical look. “What?”

“That’s my first name,” he explains with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders, once again shoving his hands into the pockets of his peacoat after he throws away his empty Starbucks cup in the trash can Éponine’s just discarded her own in. “Gabriel. Gabriel Enjolras.”

 _Gabriel._ Now that’s another hot guy name. Éponine wonders why she didn’t think of it before.

She looks him up and down for some time with an unreadable expression on her face before she reminds him softly, “I thought you didn’t give out your first name to people you might never see again.”

Enjolras blushes hard as he manages to say without stuttering his way through, “Well, then, consider this my way of telling you that I want to see you again. Only if you’re up for it, of course,” he adds hastily upon seeing the hesitant look on Éponine’s face.

She goes quiet for a few moments, and it’s not until two minutes later that she speaks again. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Confusion overtakes Enjolras but he does as he’s told, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it over  once he’s unlocked it for her. Éponine seems to type something into his phone and a few moments later, her phone vibrates in her pocket.

“There you go,” she says, going so far as to put it back in his pocket for him and patting the spot over it once she’s done so. “Now you have my number, and I’ve got yours. Give me a call sometime, won’t ya?”

Enjolras smiles, blue eyes sparkling under the sunlight breaking through the clouds. “Of course.”

Éponine’s just about to turn around again when Enjolras says suddenly, “Wait a minute.”

Éponine looks back at him. “What is it?”

“It wouldn’t be too much to ask you to fill out this political questionnaire I made a couple of years back, would it?” It sounds ridiculous even as it comes out of his mouth, but he can’t make the same mistake he did with that Republican from two years ago. He’s fairly convinced he’s still at least a little fucked up inside from that experience.

A curious smile plays at Éponine’s lips. “Sure, but why?”

“Two years ago, I slept with a Republican before finding out that that’s what she was,” Enjolras mutters, still embarrassed at the memory. “I want to make sure it never happens again.”

Éponine laughs and gives him a warm smile. “Rest assured, I have never been nor will ever be a Republican at any point in my life. I’ll fill out that questionnaire you made, no problem.”

“Oh, God, thank you.” Enjolras is pleasantly surprised; he’d been expecting her to just laugh at him and refuse to do so, much like a fair few of his previous dates from the past few months, so he’s amazed that Éponine’s willing to comply.

Éponine’s smile grows wider, dimples showing. “Anytime.”

Enjolras watches as she turns around and disappears into the apartment building, but not until after flashing him a sweet dimpled smile, and as he walks away, hands in his coat pockets, he thinks about how maybe having a one-night stand wasn’t a mistake after all.

Even if the thing that made it all turn out to be worth it came after.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what you think :3


End file.
